


Don't Go Getting Swept Away in Dreams

by audreyoctopus



Category: Titanic (1997)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, RMS Titanic, Reincarnation, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26264701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyoctopus/pseuds/audreyoctopus
Summary: The first time, Jack saved Rose. This time, Rose is determined to save Jack.
Relationships: Jack Dawson/Rose DeWitt Bukater
Comments: 19
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

Rose felt herself fading, lulled slowly to sleep, warm in her bed, just as Jack had told her she would, all those years ago… she knew she was dying. _I’m okay with that,_ she decided. She had lived a long life, a life that she had built herself – not for anyone else, and not with anyone else’s money. She was happy. Her family was happy. She would soon see Bobby again… see Jack again…

It was her time, she knew that… and when the young man approached her bed, his eyes as blue as she remembered, his hair the same shining gold it had been all those years ago, Rose smiled. She took his hand when he offered it to her. The young man smiled at her, and helped her stand up… and Rose started to walk, the room around her slowly fading into nothingness as Rose prepared for what was to come…

A loud, ear-piercing, screeching noise brought Rose’s attention away from the young man, away from the fading room, which seemed to be rushing around her like a strong gust of wind. She felt the man next to her dissolve – she tried to grab onto him but he slipped from her hands as though he were made from sand.

“Help!” cried the voice, at least an octave higher that what was natural. Rose wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, and resisted the urge to grimace. “Help, my daughter has fainted!”

Rose suddenly realised that she was no longer in her bed – in fact, the ground below her was hard, and extremely uncomfortable. She felt her cheek squashed against the pavement, felt the pair of hands on her shoulders as they flipped her over… and slowly she opened her eyes, scared of what she would see.

She was instantly blinded by the sun – blinking, Rose began to feel ill. She still couldn’t see anything beyond faint shapes and that godawful light, but there were other sounds now – the whinnying of horses, the hooting of seabirds, and a thousand excited conversations.

“What?” Rose heard herself saying, her voice different to what she was used to hearing. It wasn’t the crackly voice of an old lady, it was clear, the voice of a young woman. Rose thought she must be hearing things. “Where…”

“Oh, thank god, Rose, I was worried sick!” The woman kneeling by her side was oddly familiar… If Rose hadn’t known better, she would have thought the voice belonged to her mother. “You’ve fainted, Rose, from this dreadful heat… I did tell you to be careful, but of course you never listen, do you… Cal? Oh, do hurry, Cal, she’s come to.”

“Mother?” she whispered, blinking away the spots in her vision, trying to sit up. Small but strong hands pushed her back down, and Rose wanted to slap them away from her. “It can’t be…”

It had to be a dream. It _had_ to be. _Please, God, let it be a dream,_ Rose thought to herself. Only moments ago, she had been in her bed, in the body of a one-hundred-year-old woman – and now she was seventeen again, in Southampton, about to board the _Titanic._

“She seems to be delirious, Ruth, we’d best get her onto the ship.” Another voice that sounded familiar… an annoyingly nasal one. Rose instinctively cringed away from it… she was beginning to see things clearer now. There was her mother… there was Trudy… and there was the man she had hoped she would never see again.

“Cal,” she said, staring up at her former fiancé. She felt her throat begin to close up… she was panicking. _Calm down,_ she told herself, taking a few deep breaths. _Calm down, you’ll wake up soon. This is only a bad dream._

“Yes, yes, Rose, you’ve had a nasty fall,” he said, helping her sit up. She wanted to push his hands away from her, but was scared she might fall backwards… she felt awfully dizzy.

“Oh dear, she must have hit her head,” Ruth said, watching Rose sway back and forth where she sat.

“No. No… I’m fine…” Rose heard herself saying again… she couldn’t remember making the decision to talk – her voice seemed to be acting of its own accord. It sounded far-away, as though she was in a tunnel.

She remembered this day all too well, in crisp detail. She had been excited, but had also been dreading the voyage – reaching the destination would mean that her life was over, would mean that she was condemned to being unhappy as Cal’s wife for the rest of her life, for the rest of eternity. And if she was back here, that meant she was seventeen again… if she was back here, that meant that someone else would be near. Someone she had seen die.

“Come on, sit her up… probably dehydrated… tired, from the trip, I’d say,” Cal said, talking to somebody that Rose couldn’t see from her vantage point of the ground. “Yes, she’s delicate, of course… we must get you into the cabin, Rose.”

“No,” Rose said, firmly shaking her head, fighting down the tears that threatened to fall, clenching her fists so tightly that she was sure her fingernails must have drawn blood from her palm. “I am not getting back onto that godforsaken ship, I am not!”

She remembered what had happened, remembered that night in crisp detail… the groaning of the boat, as though it was in pain, the icy sting of the water as it slowly grew taller and taller… the screams of the passengers, who didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to experience that again… she didn’t want to feel Jack’s frozen hand on hers, didn’t want to see him disappear under the water… though maybe this time, that wouldn’t happen.

Cal scoffed. “What on earth are you talking about, Rose? You must get on the ship.”

“No, no, no, I won’t get on, I won’t!” she cried, staying stubbornly on the ground, resisting the people trying to pull her to her feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rose, I paid good money for those tickets and I won’t let them go to waste,” Cal snapped. “Besides, the _Titanic_ is the very finest ocean liner there is – unsinkable, they say!”

“It’s made of iron,” Rose said, crossing her arms across her chest. “It can sink.” _It will sink,_ was what she thought, but didn’t say.

They would never believe her if she tried to warn them, if she tried to do something – and what could she do? They would probably think she was hysterical, concussed, maybe – they would confine her to her cabin until that final night – she wouldn’t be able to find Jack. She didn’t want to do what they said, but she knew that she was powerless against them unless she bided her time. She had an advantage – she knew exactly how the sinking would play out. Maybe this time she would be able to change what happened…

“Regardless, you are boarding. I won’t hear another word against it,” said Cal, gripping her by the elbow and yanking her roughly to her feet.

The first time, being an innocent teenager, Rose had feared Cal… she had hated him, too, but wanted to avoid conflict as much as she could, so went along with what he said. This time, though, she wasn’t scared. She was angry. She saw now what she hadn’t seen back then – she saw Cal for who he was. A slimy bastard, forcing a teenager to do things with him… a thirty-year-old man, marrying a seventeen-year-old. She realised just how disgusting he had been – how disgusting he w _as –_ and couldn’t keep her anger contained.

“Don’t you touch me!” she all but shrieked, tearing her arm out of Cal’s grip.

“Rose!” Ruth said, aghast – Rose didn’t care. If she absolutely had to do this again, she would do it her way – knowing what she knew now, maybe things would turn out differently. _Maybe,_ she thought, suddenly hopeful, _maybe this time Jack will live._


	2. Chapter 2

Jack watched the girl and her father by the railing, adding quick strokes of charcoal to the sheet of paper. The wind was whistling through his hair, and Jack inhaled deeply – the smell of the sea had always been one of his favourite scents. He was feeling happier than he had for long time – the Titanic, in his mind, was synonymous with opportunity. He was going home to America – and maybe when he got there he would finally be recognised as the artist he wanted to be.

He was interrupted from his daydream when Fabrizio poked him in the ribs. Jack jumped, swatting his friend’s hand away. "Jack, look!" Fabrizio hissed.

"What?" he asked, frowning. He hadn’t captured the drawing in time – the girl and her father had left, and the moment was lost forever, gone in the sea breeze.

"That girl. She is walking to us."

Jack glanced in the direction Fabrizio was pointing, catching sight of the beautiful girl heading their way. She had to be first-class, so what on earth was she doing on the third-class deck? Had the two of them done something wrong? Jack quickly slipped his sketchbook and the stick of charcoal into his satchel, running a hand through his hair and hoping he didn’t smell too bad.

"Hello,” said the girl somewhat nervously, sticking out her hand for Fabrizio to shake, and then Tommy, and then Jack. He didn’t know if he was imagining things or not – but the girl seemed to hold his handshake longer than she had held the others. Her hands were telling of her class – as soft as rose petals.

“Hi,” said Jack, smiling at her, hoping that no-one else could hear the beating of his heart which seemed to be getting louder, and louder, and louder. The girl still hadn’t let go of his hand – he knew he wasn’t imagining things now.

Fabrizio and Tommy exchanged glances, smirks growing on their faces. "Alrighty then Jack, Fabrizio and me'll go explore now," Tommy said, giving Jack a wink. “See you at dinner.” His friends walked off, glancing over their shoulders a couple of times.

The girl turned her head slightly, and the sunlight caught her eyes. Jack noticed that they were almost the exact colour of emeralds – he had the sudden urge to draw them, to capture them on paper so he could look at them forever. He felt his cheeks beginning to grow warm under her gaze, and coughed, both relieved and disappointed when the moment was broken. The girl let go of his hand.

"So, uh, what brings you to the third-class deck? Surely a rich girl like you would be scared of getting her shoes dirty,” Jack said, running his hand through his hair again nervously.

"How do you know I'm first class?" asked the girl, putting her hands on her hips.

Jack let out a short laugh. "Oh, please. Your posture, your expensive clothes and even the air around you. They're definitely clues."

"Well, I think that I've been mailed to the wrong address,” she said, and Jack was once again struck at how vibrant she was, as if she had been painted with the finest paints in the world. Her hair, as bright as fire. Her eyes, like two glittering jewels. Her rosy cheeks, like painted porcelain. She was the greatest work of art he had ever seen.

"You do, do you?" Jack asked, giving her a smirk. He didn’t know much about her yet – but he knew he liked her. He stuck out his hand. "I’m Jack Dawson."

"Rose Calv- Rose DeWitt-Bukater," she said, taking his hand and shaking it.

Jack whistled. "Woah, I'm gonna have to get you to write that one down."

Rose let out a laugh. "Why are we shaking hands again?"

"I don't know!" Jack laughed as well, and the two of them grinned at each other.

He couldn’t explain it, but he felt as though he had met her before – he felt at home with her, as though they already knew each other. _That’s impossible, Jack,_ he told himself sternly. _You don’t know her, and you can’t let yourself be carried away in daydreams – she’s first-class, and you’re third. It’s never going to happen._ Feeling deflated, as though someone had actually whispered those words in his ear, he let go of her hand.

Rose suddenly stood on her tiptoes, and Jack wondered what she was looking at, before noticing the sketchbook that was peeking out of his satchel. Oops.

"May I see?" Rose asked him, a hopeful, almost dreamy look on her face. Jack nodded, and took the sketchbook out of his satchel, passing it to her. Their hands brushed, and Jack felt another smile twitching on his face – he had the sudden urge to press her fingers to his lips. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jack watched Rose.

"Mr Dawson, these are really very good! You’re very talented!" she said, looking up at him in admiration.

"Well, thanks,” he said with a grin. He had only known her five minutes – and yet her praise meant more than anyone else’s ever had. “But you can call me Jack."

"And you may call me Rose," she said, bobbing her head.

Jack whistles. "Thank god! I wasn't looking forward to saying 'why hello, Miss DeWitt-Bukater, isn't the weather just lovely' every time I see you." Rose laughed, and Jack was suddenly reminded of the tinkling of bells.

Rose turned the page, and Jack realised too late that the drawing was one of the nudes he had done in Paris. She didn’t seem embarrassed, however, and Jack was surprised – any other girl would have blushed, and dropped her gaze. But Rose was an enigma – she was nothing like any other girl he’d ever met.

"You like this woman,” Rose said, looking up at him and gesturing to the woman on the page. “You used her several times."

"Well, she had beautiful hands, you see," said Jack, flipping the page to show Rose a study he had done of the woman’s hands. They had reminded him of butterflies, slender and delicate, and she had gestured when she talked, her hands looking as though they were flying.

A sudden trumpeting noise made them both jump, and Jack quickly stepped back, realising that he and Rose were standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Jack cleared his throat, realising that the trumpet must signal lunch for the first-class passengers.

"Shouldn't you be going back?" he asked her, jabbing his thumb at the first-class deck.

Rose sighed. "I suppose I should. I can't stand another moment with those snobs. All they do is compare, praise and complain about their wealth, smoke expensive tobacco and drink ridiculous champagne."

"Well, I think you should go. Don't want you to get in trouble, after all,” Jack said. What would happen to him, if they were seen together? Surely nothing good.

Rose sighed again. "I suppose you're right. It was a pleasure meeting you, Jack."

"Likewise,” he said. “I hope to see you again sometime!" he called after her, watching her as she walked away.

"And I you, Jack!" Rose called back.

Jack slowly started to walk back to his cabin, feeling as though he was walking on sunshine. Trailing his hand along the railing, he paused to stare at the still-visible horizon of Southampton. Only a couple of hours ago, he and Fabrizio had been sitting at that poker table, hardly daring themselves to dream. Now, he was on the most luxurious ship he’d ever seen, on his was back home, and he had met the strangest, most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

“Jack!” someone called, and Jack turned around, grinning. Fabrizio and Tommy made their way to the railing – they had obviously been spying.

“Hi,” he said, trying and failing to wipe the smile off his face.

“What did the girl want?” asked Fabrizio.

Jack shrugged. “Rose was just being friendly.”

“Friendly?” Fabrizio laughed, shaking his head. “I think she wanted a lot more than to be friends.”

Tommy shook his head at Jack’s hopeful expression. “You’re dreaming, Jack. It’s not going to happen. My ma always said ‘don’t go getting swept away in dreams, boyo, you’ll never wake’. I reckon she’d tell you the same.”

Jack shrugged, and slid his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know, Tommy, I don’t know.”

He did know, though. He knew that he liked Rose – and something in her eyes told him that she might like him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue in this chapter is from the movie. I don’t own Titanic, not the movie, not the ship.
> 
> Have a great day/night!
> 
> -Audrey :)


	3. Chapter 3

"Where have you _been?"_ Ruth hissed as Rose took her seat at the lunch table. "We've been waiting for you!"

Rose smiled at her mother with as much warmth she could muster. “Sorry, Mother. I got rather caught up in conversation with a new friend."

She nodded to Molly sitting across the table from her, before realising with a start that in this life, she hadn’t met Molly yet. It was a funny thought – she had kept in touch with the woman for many years after the Titanic, and to know that Molly didn’t know her yet was a saddening thought. Molly smiled at her, and leaned across the table, hand extended. “Hello there, I’m Molly Brown. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise. I’m Rose,” said Rose, standing up to shake Molly’s hand before dropping back into her seat.

Cal leaned towards her, before whispering in her ear. "It isn't proper for you to have friends,” he said. Rose felt a flash of anger in her chest, and glared at him, crossing her arms. She was determined not to let Cal walk all over her – not that she had last time, but this time she wanted to do things her way.

"I will do what I please, thank you very much,” she said firmly. His face reddened, and Rose couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or anger – she found that she didn’t care.

Her mother gasped softly, her cheeks growing pink. Rose didn’t need to wonder about her mother’s feelings – she knew she had embarrassed her. "Rose,” Ruth said in a warning tone, her voice dangerously quiet. Rose recognised that tone – it had terrified her when she was younger, but now it had little effect on her.

She held no respect for her mother the second time around. At seventeen – although she supposed she was, technically, seventeen – Rose had still had a child-like respect for her mother, despite the fact she was being married off for riches. But this time, Rose knew that if her mother truly loved her, she would put Rose’s happiness over their wealth. “Mother,” Rose replied. “I will do as I please.”

Molly grinned at her. Rose grinned back, ignoring the poisonous looks Ruth and Cal were giving her.

***

After lunch, Ruth insisted that Rose come back to their cabin. Rose had agreed, if only to avoid an argument – she would be able to sneak off and find Jack again soon, one of the only people on the ship she knew would treat her as a human being rather than a living doll. Quickly getting changed into more comfortable clothing, Rose waited until her mother had disappeared into the powder room before sneaking off, closing the door quietly behind her.

It didn’t take long to find him. He was standing at the bow, his arms extended outwards like wings. She couldn’t see his face, but she was sure that if she could, he would be smiling.

"Hello, Jack," she said.

Whipping around, Jack jumped down from the bow with a grin on his face, his nose and cheeks slightly pink from the cool ocean breeze. "Rose!" He took her hand and kissed it, and she felt her whole body grow warm. "So, you escaped from your rich friends, eh?"

"I'm so glad I did,” Rose said. “I think I might have died, spending another moment in their company.” She mimed throwing up, and Jack laughed.

"Come here," he said, beckoning for her to join him. She peeked over the edge, and gasped. The water looked as though it was infused with pure gold, as if it had eaten the sun. It was beautiful.

"It's beautiful,” she said, leaning over further, drinking in the vibrant colours. “Jack, you should try to draw it."

Jack shook his head, his hair flopping into his eyes. Pushing it behind his ears, Jack smiled bashfully. "Nah, I can only do portraits. Let’s go for a walk," he said, taking her elbow gently. Rose smiled at him – he was a far better person than Cal would ever be.

Continuing their conversation, Rose glanced at Jack as they walked, drinking in the sight of his face, as beautiful as she remembered. "You mean you get all your drawings from life?"

"Indeed I do,” he said with a nod. “That's the thing about Paris. There are lots of girls willing to take their clothes off."

Rose laughs. "I went to Paris for finishing school. None of the girls I knew there would have taken their clothes off."

Rose was surprised at how quickly memories of the school jumped to her mind – she had been unable to conjure up a picture in her head of the school for years. In fact, she hadn’t even been able to remember its name. But of course, everything was clearer now, as if she had put on a pair of glasses. She had left so much out of her tale, and was remembering things she hadn’t thought about for years – Jack’s face was the one thing that had remained as clear as a photograph.

“Well, what about you?” Jack asked. For a moment Rose thought he was asking if she would have taken her clothes off for him, and she felt her face go red before he continued talking. “Are you an artist?”

Rose smiled. Art had been something she had always wanted to try, and after the Titanic the first time, she had spent many years studying it. She had attended life drawing classes, painting classes, pottery classes – and then acting classes, which were what landed her a decades-long career in cinema. But sculpture had been the medium she’d connected with the most – being able to bring something to life out of clay was something that never grew old. Although, in this life, none of that had happened. Yet.

“Somewhat,” she replied. “I’ve always had an interest in sculpture – and acting.”

“Ah, sculpture! Never really been my thing,” said Jack. “But I do admire the art of sculpting itself – it’s very tricky. Me, I don’t like to wait for things to happen, which I guess is why I like charcoal, and I know that there’s a lot of waiting involved with sculpture, right?”

“Well, yes, it can take a while,” Rose said, nodding. “The sculpting itself takes quite a lot of time, depending of the size of the piece, of course – I once worked on a bust that took about six weeks to sculpt. And then of course, you have to wait for the clay to dry, which can take up to two weeks –“

“And the firing?” Jack interrupted.

“Oh, yes, the kiln can also take some time. Especially if you’re doing a glaze firing – you have to fire it twice.”

Jack whistled, shaking his head. “You must be real patient.”

Rose shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “I suppose I am – I’m happy to wait, because I know that something beautiful is waiting at the end of the journey.”

“The journey, huh?” said Jack with a smile.

“Art is a journey, is it not?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“Yeah, it definitely is,” Jack agreed, smiling at her. “You know, you’re very impressing.”

“Impressing?” she asked, feeling her heart flutter in her chest as though it were a butterfly.

“Well, yeah. You’re beautiful, smart, funny – and the first rich girl I’ve met who knows how to sculpt!”

“How many rich girls have you met?” Rose asked, unable to keep the teasing tone out of her voice.

Jack grinned. “Admittedly, not many.”

They both laughed, their moment cut short when Rose caught sight of the three people approaching them. Cal led the little group, a sour expression on his face. Ruth followed him, holding her dress a few centimetres above the ground as though even being on the third-class deck was disgusting. Molly trailed along behind them, obviously knowing and not caring that Ruth and Cal didn’t want her around – Rose was glad that she had come. Perhaps Cal and Ruth would be a bit easier on Jack if they were in the presence of another person.

"Rose. We've been looking for you,” said Cal distastefully. He looked down his nose at Jack as though he would love to squash him under his heel like he would a cockroach.

Ruth looked aghast, a disgusted expression on her face. "What are you doing on the third-class deck?" she demanded, yanking Rose away from the railing, away from Jack, as if worried that Rose would catch a disease, as if the railing and Jack were infested with germs and parasites.

Rose wriggled out of her mother’s grip, resisting the urge to say, ‘what are YOU doing on the third-class deck?’. As funny as that would be, Rose knew it would only serve to make her mother and Cal even angrier than they already were. "Mother, this is Jack, my new… friend. I met him this morning."

"So this is the reason you were late to lunch,” Cal said, glancing at Rose before looking Jack up and down, as if he needed a moment to take in Jack’s scruffy appearance.

"A pleasure to meet you,” said Jack pleasantly, shaking Cal's hand and kissing Ruth's and Molly’s. Ruth wiped her hand on her dress, as if she were worried poverty was catching. Jack’s expression faltered a little bit, but to his credit he managed to keep his composure.

"Come along, Rose," said Cal, grabbing Rose’s arm so tightly she knew there would be bruises. She hadn’t forgotten his treatment of her, but after spending a lifetime with her gentle Bobby, she had grown unaccustomed to abuse. She felt a pang of guilt after thinking of Bobby – was she betraying him, somehow, by being back here with Jack? She didn’t know, but couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. Pushing all feelings of guilt away, she tried to stay in the present moment. “Let’s get you away from this hobo,” Cal said.

"Surely that's not the way to treat your fiancé's new friend,” Rose said, shaking her head, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. "It's quite rude, actually, and don't you think it's rather improper for a first-class man, such as yourself, to be rude? I thought manners were important to you, Cal, I must admit I’m disappointed."

"Well,” said Cal, shuffling his feet uncomfortably, realising that he now had no choice but to either rectify the situation, or look bad. If there was one thing Rose new about Cal, it was that he didn’t like his image to be soiled in front of an audience. “Perhaps your friend here might like to join us for dinner this evening."

"It would be an honour,” said Jack dryly.

"Well, that’s settled then!" Rose said. Pulling her arm away from Cal, she shook Jack’s hand, wishing she could kiss his cheek. _There will be time for that in the future,_ she reminded herself. She would be able to escape Cal and her mother soon – she just needed to bide her time. "We'll see you later, Mr Dawson."

“See ya,” said Jack, leaning against the railing and waving.

0o0o

“What were you thinking, Rose?” Ruth hissed, pushing Rose into their cabin. “Going down to the third-class deck? Have you any idea what filth that place must hold?”

“What filth, Mother?” asked Rose, raising her eyebrows. “Are you referring to bacteria, or poverty?” She knew her mother wouldn’t like her tone of voice, and she was right.

“Don’t talk to me like that, I am your mother,” Ruth said, her voice raised.

Rose let out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, yes, my mother. The same mother who is attempting to force me into a loveless relationship with a man twice my age.”

Ruth faltered. “Rose, I – I’m doing this for you.”

“Doing what for me?” said Rose, trying to push down her anger. It was all so unjust. She had spent years after the Titanic thinking about her relationship with her mother, wondering if she should reach out, wondering if she should have handled it differently – but being back on the ship reminded Rose of how helpless she had felt as a seventeen year old. She had been ready to kill herself, and still her mother let her think it was her fault. “Sentencing me to a lifetime of unhappiness?”

“You know you have to do this,” Ruth said, her voice thick, as though she was fighting down tears. “You have to save us. All of our money is gone –“

“I know that,” said Rose, staring her mother in the eyes. “But would you really take money over my happiness?”

Ruth opened her mouth to say something, before letting out a breath and narrowing her eyes. “This conversation is over,” she said, turning away, her eyes hard. “Clean yourself and get dressed. I don’t want to be late to dinner, although I suppose it doesn’t matter, not considering the company.”

“I hope you’ll treat Jack well, Mother, he’s a kind gentleman,” Rose said, wondering what she had gotten poor Jack into. She hoped that Cal and her mother wouldn’t treat him too badly, though perhaps she was hoping for too much.

“He is no gentleman,” Ruth said with a frown. “After tonight, you’re not to see him again, you hear me?”

“Of course, Mother,” said Rose, only agreeing so that she would be left alone.

She wouldn’t allow her mother to control her – the universe had gifted her with a second chance. A second chance to explore what could have been with Jack – she wouldn’t allow anyone to take that chance away from her. Not on her life.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack smoothed his hair back one more time, turning around so he could see every angle of the suit. He almost didn’t believe it was him he was looking at in the mirror – he had never worn clothes as nice as the suit Molly had lent him.

“Oh, stop fussing, you look fine!” Molly said, straightening his collar. “Now, off you go, you don’t want to be late for your Rose.”

Jack smiled. “My Rose, huh? What makes you say that?”

“I saw the way you look at her,” Molly said, winking at him. “She looks at you the same way.”

“She’s a swell girl,” he said, smiling at the thought of her. It was hard to believe that he hadn’t known her yesterday – it felt as though he had known her years. Even though they had only spoken twice, he felt as though she already knew him.

“She sure is, but you be careful, alright?” Molly said, her brow furrowed. “That Caledon Hockley has some very powerful friends and I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble, son.”

“I’ll be careful,” Jack said, though he had no intention of being careful. If Molly wasn’t standing behind him, he would have crossed his fingers behind his back.

“I know you will,” Molly said, patting his shoulder before gesturing at the door. “Now – go!”

“Thanks again, Molly!” Jack called over his shoulder as he headed out of the cabin.

He felt like a new man – and people were certainly treating him as if he was. There were no more haughty looks thrown in his direction from the first-class folk. Instead, they nodded at him, as though he belonged – as though he was their equal.

“Boy, could I get used to this,” Jack said to himself, winking at a pair of older first-class women who giggled like schoolgirls as he walked by. Maybe if he had money, he would have a better chance with Rose. For now, though, he’d have to make do with his charm and perhaps his art.

 _My Rose,_ he thought, smiling to himself. _I could get used to that, too._

0o0o

Smiling, Jack inclined his head at Cal and Ruth, who walked arm-and-arm past him. Ruth’s nose was turned up as though she would prefer to pretend that Jack wasn’t there; she obviously wasn’t very happy that he would be joining them for dinner.

Cal, upon catching sight of him, let out a guffaw. "You could almost pass for a gentleman!" Shaking his head in amusement, he led Ruth into the dining room.

Raising an eyebrow at Cal’s retreating back, Jack ducked his head. "Almost."

Smiling at Rose, he hoped that she wouldn’t be able to tell that he was falling in love with her – and he was, he knew that he was, even though he had only known her for mere hours. There was something about her – a fire, flickering behind her eyes, a fire flickering in her very soul, that drew him to her like a moth to the moon. He supposed that would make him the moth; he didn’t mind.

"Milady,” he said, bowing. Taking her hand, Jack pressed his lips to her knuckles, glad that Cal wasn’t around to see them. "I saw that on a nickelodeon once, and I wanted to try."

Rose let out a short laugh, before offering him her arm. "Shall we?"

"We shall,” answered Jack, giving her what he hoped passed off as a charming smile.

0o0o

"Are these all for me?" Jack whispered to Molly, discreetly pointing at the cutlery. He had never seen so much cutlery at the same time – there were more forks at the table than there were people.

"Just start from the outside and work your way in,” she whispered back. He nodded his thanks. He was glad that she was there to help him – he would have been completely lost if she wasn’t.

"So, Mr Dawson. What started your friendship with Miss DeWitt-Bukater? Mr Hockley here tells me that the two of you get along quite well." A man at the end of the table asked him.

Jack smiled at the man. "We met just after the ship left Southampton. I was drawing, and she asked to see."

"So you're an artist, then?" the man asked, looking him up and down as though sizing him up. Jack knew that an artist probably wasn’t a very impressive career to the rich businessmen he was seated with – not that he could call his art a career. He hoped that he’d be able to someday.

"Well, a freelance artist,” he said, bobbing his head. “I'll occasionally sell a drawing cheap when I need the dough, but I mostly just draw for myself. Takes my mind off things."

"Interesting!" said the man, though the look on his face told Jack that he didn’t find it very interesting at all, and was merely being polite.

"Whereabouts are you from, Mr Dawson?" Ruth asked, regarding him with cold blue eyes. They were the same colour as Rose’s, but lacked all the warmth, all the kindness; they were like hawk eyes, watching every little movement he made and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Jack smiled at her, hoping she would warm up to him. Something told him that if he didn’t impress her, she would do everything in her power to keep him from Rose. "I was born and raised in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, but I go wherever the wind takes me. Why, just a week ago I was sleeping under a bridge, and look at me now, drinking champagne with you fine people." A round of appreciative laughter went around the table; Ruth, leaning back in her chair, did not join in.

"I figure that life's a gift, and I don't intend on wasting even a second of it. I want to make it count,” Jack said, taking a large bite out of his dinner roll and raising it into the air appreciatively.

Rose’s eyes twinkled. Raising her champagne glass, she looked right at him and said, "To making it count."

“To making it count,” everyone echoed. Raising his glass, Jack decided that he would do everything in his power to see Rose again. He knew there was no way he would ever truly be accepted by Rose’s class – but he didn’t care, and something told him that Rose didn’t, either. He was going to make it count.

0o0o

“Thank you very much, Mr Hockley, for inviting me to dinner,” Jack said, shaking Cal’s hand and smiling in what he hoped was a friendly way.

“It was no trouble,” Cal said stiffly, in a manner that told Jack it _had,_ in fact, been quite the trouble.

“Thank you, Mrs DeWitt-Bukater, it’s been a pleasure. And Rose – thank you, Rose,” Jack said, pressing Rose’s hand to his lips as he had Ruth’s. He felt her press something small into his palm, and frowned when he caught her eye.

She gave him a funny little smile. “Good night, Mr Dawson,” she said, nodding, squeezing his hand one more time before rising from the table with her mother and turning her back to him.

“Mr Dawson,” said Cal. Jack jumped – too focused on the note in his hand, he hadn’t noticed that Cal was still present at the dinner table. “I must ask you to stay away from Rose. She’s very… _emotional,_ you see, and I wouldn’t want anything to upset her.”

“Are you saying that I’ll upset Rose?” Jack asked, trying to sound pleasant, which he found was a hard thing to achieve when he felt defensive.

Cal smiled. “Not at all. I only think that it’s inappropriate for her to be wandering around in steerage. And as her fiancé, I feel it is my duty to –“

“To make decisions for her?” Jack interrupted, feeling his face grow hot at the unfairness of it all.

“Precisely,” Cal said, giving him one last nasty smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr Dawson. I think it’s time you returned that suit now, it clearly doesn’t belong to you.”

Cal turned on his heel and stalked after Ruth and Rose, which was fortunate, as he didn’t see the face Jack pulled at him behind his back. Making his way out of the first-class dining room, Jack suddenly remembered the thing clenched in his hand. It was a tightly folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, Jack smiled at the messy, curly handwriting.

_Do you know of any real parties we could go to? That one was rather pathetic, don’t you think? Anyway, meet me at the clock in an hour. I’ll need some time to escape from my mother. Rose x_

Jack knew that there was going to be a party in steerage tomorrow night, and so he wasn’t sure what he could do for Rose. _I’ll figure it out as I go,_ he decided, making his way to the clock and leaning against the wall. That was what he did with everything else in life, so he didn’t see why it shouldn’t apply to parties, as well.

0o0o

“Good evening, Mr Dawson,” came a voice from behind him. Grinning, Jack turned around. “I see you received my note.”

“How are you doing, Rose?” Jack asked. She was dressed in a loose blue gown, which looked far more comfortable and casual than the tight dress she’d worn to dinner. He was beginning to feel a bit overdressed in his borrowed suit.

“Better, now that I’m here,” she replied, giving him her hand.

He kissed her hand. “I’m sorry to say that the only party I know of is taking place tomorrow evening. In the meantime, I thought that we could just walk.”

“That sounds lovely, Jack. Where are we walking to?”

Jack pulled a face. “I probably should have thought of that before I invited you.”

Rose laughed. “No matter, no matter. I suppose we can figure that out as we go?”

“Perfect,” he said, and she slipped her arm into his.

They decided to go down to the second-class deck – they wouldn’t stick out as much there as they would have in third-class, with their beautiful, undeniably expensive clothes. And first-class was obviously out of the question – there was too much risk of Rose being recognised, of someone telling Cal where she had been, and who she had been with.

“I hate it so much, Jack,” Rose sighed. “People making my decisions for me, telling me what to wear, what to eat, what to read. I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to live a different life to the one my mother wants for me.”

“Why don’t you escape?” Jack asked. That was what he had done, after the death of his parents. He couldn’t stay in Chippewa Falls without them, so he had left, with only a small rucksack and the memories in his head to call his own. It had been the best decision he’d ever made.

Rose laughed. “I’m planning to. Unfortunately, I’m currently in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean – there aren’t many places here I can escape to. Besides, it’s not the escaping I’m worried about – it’s the staying hidden.”

“Good point,” he said, nodding. “What about when we get to New York? Couldn’t you escape then?”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” she said, looking slightly sad and far-away. Jack wondered what she was thinking about.

Worried, he squeezed her hand. He hoped it hadn’t been anything he had said. “Are you okay? You look sad all of a sudden.”

She smiled at him. “I’ll be alright. I’ll figure it out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Rose shook her head firmly. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

“God, you’re annoying,” Rose laughed, before turning serious again. “I’ll tell you. One day.”

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” Jack said. They walked in silence for a moment, looking up at the inky blue sky, scattered with stars. “I can help you, you know.”

“Help me?” Rose asked, looking away from the sky.

Jack nodded. “Help you escape. Help you hide. Whatever you need.” He wasn’t sure, yet, what was going on between them – he hoped that in time he’d be able to tell. But he did know that he cared for this girl, who was like a butterfly trapped under a bell jar. He wanted to help her get away from the people she seemed to hate so much.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said softly, looking away.

“Then don’t ask. I’m offering,” he said earnestly.

Rose sighed. “Jack, I – there are some things I have to do on my own. Escaping, I’m afraid, is one of them. I’ll tell you some day, though, I promise.”

“That’s good enough for me,” he said. Looking at his watch, he swore. “Is that the time? Rose, won’t they be missing you?”

He showed her his watch, and her eyes widened. “Oh, shit. I told mother I was going for an evening walk, and that I’d be back soon. Oh, God. I have to go now, Jack,” she said, standing on her tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His heart soared at the kiss.

“Wait,” he said, taking hold of her wrist before she left. “Will I see you again?”

“You will,” Rose said. “You definitely will.”

Jack let go of her wrist, and waved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter! Thanks so much, again, for all the comments. They mean a lot, and I’m so happy you like the story!
> 
> Some parts of this, you’ll notice, are from the movie. I’m talking about some of the dialogue in the dinner party scene.
> 
> I hope the timeline isn’t too confusing – let me know if it is. I’ll just remind you that this is still the first day of the voyage; that is, Friday the 12th of April. In the movie, the dinner party happened on Saturday the 13th. I’ll put the date of what’s happening at the end of every chapter.
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked this chapter, and let me know what you think.
> 
> Have a great day/night, and thanks again to all those who commented!
> 
> -Audrey :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I wrote this like three or four years ago and forgot about it. Then the other day I rewatched Titanic for the first time in years, and as I was ugly crying into my ice-cream, I remembered it. Then I reread it – oh my god, it was terrible. Twelve-year-old me thought it would be a good idea to combine third person and present tense – spoiler alert: it was not a good idea. I guess that can work if you’re good at what you do – but I was a terrible writer back then.
> 
> So, I started rewriting. And here’s the first chapter. Hopefully it doesn’t seem like a twelve-year old wrote it.
> 
> If you would be so kind as to let me know what you think, that would be greatly appreciated. Also, if you have any advice on how to improve my writing, that would be great.
> 
> Have a great day/night!
> 
> -Audrey :)


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